Diamērizein
by lamentomori
Summary: "You stare at his legs. His gorgeous legs, that make up for a multitude of Punk's more abrasive personality traits." Short, smutty little fic about Punk's pretty, pretty legs. Warnings: Slash, smut, intercrural sex, profanity, excessive amounts of baby oil. Colt/Punk. (7 Sins continuity)


2nd person COlt pov. Warnings: Slash, smut, profanity, intercrural sex

* * *

"The fuck?" You mutter to yourself when you get home, your bedroom light is on, you're sure you'd switched it off, you're always careful to make sure that _everything_ is off when you leave. One too high an electricity bill is all that separates you form eating and starving sometimes. You move to the bedroom and stop; sprawled, face down on your bed, naked but for the towel wrapped around his waist, is Punk. It looks like, for whatever reason, he came to your place, showered and promptly passed out. This must have happened recently, there's still water clinging to his hair, although his hair does take a long time to dry so it's probably not an accurate measure of how long he's been lying there. You find yourself shaking your head at him and going back to the lounge to take off your shoes and coat. He's been showing up at your place a lot more recently, you've not seen him this often since you were in the Indys together; it's nice, you forget sometimes how much you enjoy his company.

You return to the bedroom and stare at him, his arms, his shoulders, his back, the white towel stretched over his ass and his legs. His gorgeous legs, they make up for a multitude of Punk's more abrasive personality traits. You're certain your perfect woman has a big rack and legs just like Punk's. One of the many arguments you've had with one of his many exes, ended with her declaring that all of womankind would be better off if you two were just fucking gay. Punk's legs are almost enough to persuade you that she was right; maybe you could convince him to get a boob job.

Even asleep, he looks tense, his shoulders tight, hands clenched into fists. You trace your fingers gently over the sole of one of his feet, watch his toes twitch, the other foot moving to kick at your fingers. It always amuses you how ticklish his feet are.

"Colt?" His voice is soft and unexpected.

"Fuck you doing here, Punkers?" You ask him, catching the foot that is still lazily trying to kick you, he hisses through his teeth and you notice that his ankle is swollen, you find yourself gently caressing it, before setting his leg down, patting his calf as you stand and go to the bathroom, you're sure there should be some IcyHot in there.

"Heating's fucked at my place." He says, as you come back. You kneel at the foot of the bed and set the IcyHot down on the carpet, the bottle of baby oil, which you also brought back with you, you open and pour some into your hand. You start rubbing the foot on the side with the swollen ankle, gently pressing on his flesh trying to make him relax, careful to use enough pressure so you don't tickle him and not enough to be painful. He makes a soft noise and tries to move his foot from your hands. "Not in the mood, Cabana."

"Really?" You laugh at him, sex wasn't even on your mind but now that he's mentioned it and you've had your hands on him, it truly seems like a fantastic idea. "You think that ass of yours is irresistible, Punkers?" You swat him on his butt; he kicks at you with his good leg.

"You, sir, aim to seduce me!" His voice takes on a melodramatic tone, you're sure that if he wasn't face down, he would be mock swooning, one hand to his forehead, the other to his chest. "I am wounded and you intend to impinge on my delicate sensibilities!" You interrupt his amateur dramatics by ticking his good foot, which he uses to kick at you half-heartedly. He sits up slowly and scowls at you. "Fucker." You smile back at him as he clutches the towel at his waist. "I'm not in the mood. I'm tired, my leg's hurt." He moves carefully, his swollen ankle clearly causing him pain.

"You won't have to do anything, just lie there." You find yourself pleading with him, stroking the leg closest to you, an idea is forming in your mind and you have the burning desire to see it through. He seems like he'll relent soon enough, like it won't take much to convince him it's a good idea.

"No." He crosses his legs and scowls. "Alls I want to do is sleep, I'm not washing your fucking cum and your fucking lube outta my ass, I'm plenty clean enough. Lemme sleep, fucker."

"No cum in your ass, I promise." You tell him, stroking from his knee to his hurt ankle, gently stretching his leg back out and raise it to your lips. "I just wanna make you feel better." You press a soft kiss to the swollen flesh. He sighs and shakes his head at you. You set his leg down carefully on the other side of your body, leaving you kneeling between his spread legs.

"No cum _in_ me at _all_. I'm gonna lie here and if I fall asleep, don't rape me." He lies back down, his head resting against the pillows. "I'm serious, don't rape me and think I won't know. I _will_ know." You smirk at him, a leer in your eyes.

"Damn right you'd know." His kicks you with his good leg. You chuckle at him, striping as you get off the bed to fetch the baby oil. You kneel back down and start to massage his feet, the injured one first. You pay extra attention to it, handling him carefully. Once you're satisfied with his feet, you move up to his calves. You gingerly stroke his injured ankle, feeling how tightly the skin is stretched over the swollen flesh. "You get this looked at, Punkers?" You ask, looking up at him. His eyes are half-closed and he's watching you with a lazy half smile on his face.

"Don't put pressure on it, no running, rest it and Phil, get some fucking sleep." He murmurs and yawns. "And I _was _following doctor's orders till some asshole woke me the fuck up." He rubs at his eyes sleepily; you smile at him and press a soft kiss to his injured ankle. You move on to the good one, rub your thumbs firmly over the bones of the joint, wrapping your hand around it as far as you can, trying to make your fingers meet. You stroke his Achilles tendon gently; feel the strength of it, the smoothness of the skin covering it. You place soft kisses over skin you've just rubbed baby oil into; you raise his leg and lick a stripe from his ankle to the back of his knee, pressing a kiss there, kiss several more around to the front of his knee and lick back down to his ankle, where you nibble at the joint. You pour more of the baby oil into your hands and run them up and down his calves several more times, leaving the skin shimmering softly. You rub oil into the rougher skin of his knees; you press a gentle kiss to his surgery scars. He makes a quiet moan and you smile against his skin. You unwind the towel from his waist, leaving it splayed under him and pour the oil directly onto his thighs, watching it run in glistening trials over the lightly tanned skin. You rub the oil into his thighs, massaging them firmly, watching his flesh as you press and squeeze it. You lift his bad leg and rest his ankle carefully on your shoulder, letting you massage the back of his thigh, paying close attention to where the gentle swell of his ass meets the smooth line of his thigh. He squirms slightly, trying to encourage you to spend more time on his ass with only movements and gestures. You shake your head.

"No cum in you." You mutter softly, this isn't about being inside of him; it's about those incredible legs of his. You lower his hurt leg and raise the other, giving it the same treatment, a firm massage with your thumbs, watching his flesh bulge slightly under their pressure. You lower his leg and shift so you can run your tongue over his inner thighs, your nose brushing his balls occasionally. You lick the crease where his thighs meet his groin and he moans. You kiss and lick at his inner thighs until he makes another of those soft little sounds. Then you slather his thighs in baby oil, not massaging it fully in. You slowly caress his thighs, the baby oil has left them smooth and shiny and slippery. You smirk to yourself and lay over his body, keeping your weight off him with your hands and knees, you kiss his throat softly. "Push your legs together." You whisper the request into his ear and then suck on the skin just behind it making him moan softly.

"What? Why?" You move back so that you can see his face, he looks entirely dubious of your intentions.

"Please?" You smile that sheepish smile that usually makes him relent to you and he does as you asked, presses those glorious thighs together, you feel your smile morph into a leer. You slick your cock with more of the baby oil and slide between his smooth thighs, just beneath his balls. He makes an odd noise and turns his head to the side, leaving his neck exposed to you. "Feels good?" You ask him between nipping little kisses along his neck.

"Weird." He mutters.

"Good weird, bad weird?" You ask, moving slowly between his thighs, the oil making them slippery, his strength making the space between them tight. He scrunches his nose and shrugs; you turn his face to you and kiss him.

"Just weird." He says once you pull away from his lips. "Keep going." You keep your pace slow, enjoying the feeling of those thighs pressed so tightly around you. You rise up on your hands so you can see your cock sliding between them.

"Fuck." You gasp and he squeezes his legs tighter together. The sight of those powerful, tanned legs pressing on your cock from every side as it moves between them is breath taking.

"Not one fucking word about how _pretty_ you think my legs are, Cabana. Don't you even think it, I'll know." His voice is a little rough, every time you move your cock brushes his balls, his cock is showing the first signs of interest in this scene. You kiss him and take his slowly hardening cock in your hand.

"Punk, rugged and manly, I know, I know. _But_, these are the prettiest damn legs, Punkers." You manage to chuckle at him and press a soft kiss to his lips.

"But they have tattoos!" His protests sound weak and the expression on his face shows that even he thinks so. You smile at him and return your gaze to the sight of his strong thighs pressing against your cock as it slowly moves between them. "I'm stopping shaving." He snaps finally, drawing your attention back to him.

"Claudio will be pissed; being hairy is his thing, isn't it?" You smirk at him as he frowns. "You gonna grow your hair back too?" You shift yourself so that you're resting on the elbow of your free arm and stroke his choppy, dull brown hair. "I kind of miss my hobo Punkers." He relaxes his legs and smirks at you.

"G'night Cabana." He closes his eyes. You sigh.

"Asshole." You press soft kisses to his forehead, his nose, his closed eyes; you pepper his whole face with gentle little pecks. You lean back, pull out from between his beautiful thighs, stop stroking his cock and stroke his cheek instead. He resolutely keeps his eyes closed. You stroke down his neck with one hand and caress his legs with the other. He moves his head, letting you brush your thumb over the tattoo behind his ear. He makes a soft little noise and you smile, stroking over that spot once more. You trail your hand down his throat to his chest, running your fingers over the ink there; pinch his nipples one then the other, making him make that little noise again. He cracks one eye open, it looks at you balefully. You stroke down his stomach, tracing the _straight edge_ tattoo, all the while caressing his sleek, slippery thighs. You take hold of his cock once more and gently start jacking him. With your free hand you nudge his legs closer together, use your own legs to add pressure. You keep jacking him slowly, feeling him firm up in your hand, watching his breathing speed up. "Come on, Punkers, lemme finish." You press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I say no?" He opens his eyes, wearing an odd mixture of arousal, irritation and exhaustion.

"Then I jerk you off, tuck you in and go beat one off in the shower." You say, stroking his cock a little faster. He sighs dramatically.

"Fine, fine." He tenses the muscles in those magnificent thighs once more and you kiss him, a fierce passionate kiss that leaves him gasping for breath. You slide back between his legs, feel them pressing against you, even tighter than before. You start to speed your thrusts up, stopping stroking his cock to let you use both of your hands for better leverage.

"Touch yourself for me." You pant into his ear. He makes vaguely annoyed sound.

"_You just have to lie there, Punkers. I'll do all the work, Punkers._" He does an incredibly bad impression of you for having known you for so long. He takes his cock in his hand and matches the pace of your thrusts. As he gets closer to coming, he squeezes his thighs tighter, the increased pressure and the rough fabric of the towel your cock head keeps bumping as you thrust between his legs combine to bring you closer and closer to the edge. Your orgasm sneaks up on you far sooner than you'd have liked, you do manage to pull from between his legs and finish yourself with your hand, splashing his tanned thighs with your so very white cum. The contrast of the two is beautiful. He makes a needy little noise as you admire your work. You take his cock back in your hand and bring him off quickly, his cum landing on his stomach; you lap it up, pressing kisses to his stomach. You want to hold off on licking your cum from his thighs, you want to admire them covered in your essence but eventually you have to lick it off, if only to taste those thighs once more. You stared so long, your cum had dried slightly and you find that to remove every trace of it, you have to suck gently on the soft skin of his thighs, sucking and lapping and occasionally nipping at his flesh.

"No marks!" He snaps and swats at your head; you grin against his thigh and suck a little harder on the skin before pulling away from the reddened patch.

"Wear pants for a change." You smirk at him, as he looks at you with a horribly unimpressed expression.

"Pants are for serious business. I come out wearing pants-"

"I know, I know, the smarks cream theirs. When the ROH boys wear pants, shit is going down." You press a soft kiss over the red spot. "No marks, promise." He rolls his eyes at you.

"Better not be, asshole." He pulls you up to him and kisses you softly, then yawns. "Go to sleep, fucker."

"Yeah, yeah, in a minute." You gently move the towel from underneath him and wipe the remaining cum and sweat from his body, then get off the bed and open the little tube of IcyHot you'd left on the floor. You squeeze some onto his bad ankle, rubbing it in gently. You leave the room to put the IcyHot back in the medicine cabinet and wash your hands. When you return, he's sprawled over the majority of the bed, fast asleep. You curl up in the sliver of space he's left you and before long he's shifted to sprawl over the majority of you as well. As you lie stroking the thigh he's thrown over your body waiting to drift off to sleep, the last thought you have is how the tattoos on his chest would look if he had breasts.

* * *

Set somewhere in amongst the 7 Sins "universe" (?)

That version of Colt and Punk are pretty happy to indulge what ever weird kinky shit my brain conjures up for them.

Inspired by a conversation with **littleone1389** (formerly guest and as such dedicated to) about Punk's legs.


End file.
